


pass the torch

by Randomprojects



Series: SnK Roleswap [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Roleswap, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomprojects/pseuds/Randomprojects
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir claims her inheritance.<br/>(SnK Background-swap AU: in which Ymir is Shiganghina's Heretic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	pass the torch

Ymir grew into her title at the age of six, in the back alleys of Shiganshina.

After the fifth time that shithead Roger and his scrawny little henchman cornered her behind the shoddy bakery nearest to the poorhouse, throwing insults at her – and of course the lazyass owner didn’t give a fuck, Ymir’s the dead explorers’ brat after all -– Ymir decided that she’s going to teach them a lesson. 

“Shut up.” She said. “Shut up, or I’ll make you sorry.”

“Oh yeah?” Roger sneered while his friend cackled, “you wanna fight, dirty heretic?”

“Dirty heretic!” His friend – Jan? Hans? What the fuck ever – chimed in.

“Normally I’d feel bad for hitting a girl,” Roger continued as both boys cornered her, “but you’re not a _real_ girl, just a dirty heretic, so you don’t count.”

Ymir raised her fists. “Bring it.”

She’s never really gotten into a knock out, drag down fight before, since her parents usually found her before things got too violent, but that’s alright. She’s seen enough to have a vague idea of what to do, and hefting books around for Gramps was a tougher job than it looked.

So when Roger got close enough, she punched him in the neck and grabbed him by his stupid-ass shirt, slamming him against the wall with everything she had. His friend froze, suddenly unsure, while Roger squirmed and hissed like a feral cat, growling threats at her.

“You’re gonna get it, heretic!” Roger panted, scratching at Ymir’s face. “Jan, c’mon!”

That shocked his lackey into action. He ran over with a shout, yanking at Ymir’s hair. She dug a bony elbow into Jan’s stomach, who had let go of her hair with a yelp. Roger slipped free of her weakened grip, but Ymir ran at him before he could bring his hands up, and while Jan clutched at his stomach she grabbed Roger with both hands again, smashing her knee into his gut. As he doubled over, gasping in pain, she grabbed a shoulder and flipped it across, slamming him face first against the wall. His head made a sharp, satisfying crack against the bricks, and the enraged threats turned into a pained whimper. She much preferred these noises, so she shifted her grip and did it again, dragging his face across the uneven bricks until he stopped struggling entirely.

Roger’s sobbing, no more mister tough-guy act, tears and snot and blood mingling on his cut face, while Jan looked like he’s about to piss himself. Good. She shoved Roger’s limp form towards his henchman, knocking both of them over. Jan stood up in the stance of a boy clinging to the last vestiges of desperate bravado, while Roger attempted to crawl away on unsteady legs.

“Y-you’ll never g-get away with this!” Jan squealed. “Heretic!”

She smiled. Ymir the heretic. She liked the sound of that. Mom and dad are gone, so that’s _her_ title now. It’s hers, and she’ll never let anyone take it away from her.

“Yeah, I’m the Heretic!” She grinned as she approached Jan, who squeaked and took off, leaving Roger behind; spineless asshole, couldn't even give her a good fight. “And don’t you EVER forget it!” She yelled after him, laughing. Her face bled a little from the scratches, and her head was sore from the hair pulling, but that’s alright. Ymir marched back over to Roger, giving him a sharp kick when he couldn’t crawl away fast enough. “Go on, spread the word!” She sneered at the mixture of snot and blood dribbling down his broken nose, the way his pupils shrunk to pinpricks with panic, the stains on his ratty breeches and the puddle on the ground. Pathetic piece of shit. “This is what you get when you mess with me!” She gave him another kick and watched him scurry off before turning around, practically swaggering home to Gramps.

She whistled on her way back, a tune her father crooned to her as a lullaby until a couple of years ago, when she protested that he was treating her like a baby. The others -– children and adults alike –- stared at her battle scars, the feral gleam in her eyes and the blood on her hands, muttering to each other and skittering away when she wandered too close.

They wanted a heretic, so they got one.


End file.
